


Oh My God They Were Roommates

by LittleTurtleDuck



Category: Spider-Man (Video Game 2018), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Rated for future chapters, Set after the events of the game, Slow Burn, just know that it's a grown adult peter, not a high schooler, second published fic ever so be gentle, this is really about the video game peter but it can be whatever peter you want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-11 20:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17453354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleTurtleDuck/pseuds/LittleTurtleDuck
Summary: Miles was out of town, MJ broke up with him, Aunt May was gone, and Peter lost his apartment. Again. It might be time to take up that offer for a roommate.





	1. Atta Boy

“Jesus, Parker. You got kicked out of your apartment _again_?”

Peter nodded sheepishly as he hefted another box onto the pile. His friend and fellow F.E.A.S.T. volunteer, Brandon, shook his head as he stacked more boxes. “Why don’t you get a roommate or something?”

Peter shrugged and chewed on his lip. “I… like my space.” It was technically true, he had gotten very used to living on his own. But the more truthful answer was he couldn’t share a space with someone and not compromise his identity as Spider-Man.

Brandon turned to Peter, hands on his hips. “Look-” he began. He reached out and slapped Peter’s hand away from the boxes, angular eyes narrowing. “I have a spare room. At least crash there until you figure something else out.”

Peter shook his head, trying to move back to the boxes of donated food. “No, really Brandon, it’s okay, I don’t-”

Brandon slapped Peter’s hand again, stepping between him and the boxes. “I’m barely there, you’ll have all the space you need. Honestly, I’m always here or the dance studio. You’ll hardly know I’m there.”

Peter frowned, thinking. It was far from an ideal situation, but he also didn’t have any other options on the horizon. Miles was out of town, he and MJ had broken up (again), Dr. Octavius had gone insane, and Aunt May was gone. The last few months had been... rough. His heart ached just thinking about it. It felt like everybody in his life had disappeared.

He sighed and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Brandon clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Atta boy.” Brandon had a strong grip, well suited to his muscular frame. He passed behind Peter to his other side, moving towards the door to the front hall. “I’ll drop a key by later today, yeah?”

Peter nodded weakly. “Thanks, Brandon.”

He shook his head as he left. “Don’t give it a second thought.”

But Peter did. He gave it many thoughts. Brandon had really stepped up since they lost May. He used to volunteer once, maybe twice a week. But with no one in charge, a few of the regulars took on more and more. Brandon was here once a day now, sometimes even twice. Peter knew he also taught dance lessons for kids, and must be running himself ragged. He knew a thing or two about taking on more than you should.

They had become pretty good friends in the last couple months. Peter had been pretty low, and it felt like Brandon understood. He had gone through a breakup with a boyfriend just before MJ broke things off again. It was nice to know someone else felt just a shitty as he did. Misery loves company, after all.

He finished stacking the final boxes and went to check up on the supply list, making sure nothing new needed to be ordered before he went out on patrol. His hands were growing twitchy, a nervous tick he picked up when it had been too long since he’d been out in the suit. He hurried to the roof of the building where he kept the bag with his suit.

It was a quick and practiced change, one he had done hundreds of times. As he zipped up to a taller building nearby, he noticed Brandon walking away. He watched him walk for a moment. He had a smooth, elegant gait; well suited to a dancer. Sirens to the east pulled his attention away. Time for work.


	2. A Box and a Bag

All of Peter’s belongings fit into one bag and a box. His whole life could be held in two hands. He sighed as he climbed the stairs to Brandon’s apartment. His apartment now, he supposed. He used his new key to let himself in and true to his promise, Brandon was gone. The kitchen was to the left, living room ahead, and one bedroom on either side. The one to the right was his; it was the smaller of the two, but that seemed fair.

As he closed the door behind him, something brushed at his ankles. It was a scrappy looking calico cat with no tail. He chuckled, setting the box down on the kitchen counter. “Hey there, who are you?” A closer inspection of the collar told him that her name was Mouser. He gave her a quick scratch behind the ears before picking up his belongings again and heading to his new room. 

He was unpacked within the hour. The room came with a single bed and a bare desk, but it was certainly better than nothing. He needed to remember to do something nice for Brandon as a thank you.

But for now, a retreat to the living room to watch a movie seemed like a good choice. Part of his brain nagged that he should suit up and go on patrol, but it had been a long a frustrating day, and the last thing he wanted to do was trap himself inside the skintight suit. 

He flipped the tv on and settled on The Empire Strikes Back. Classic.

After a few minutes, Mouser hopped up on the couch and settled into Peter’s lap. He chuckled, showering her with affection. What a sweet little thing she was.

About halfway through the movie, Brandon let himself in. He was dressed in his dance clothes, low hanging sweatpants and a shirt that showed off his tattoo. Peter felt a flutter in his stomach. He had of course noticed Brandon before, but he had been with MJ so long he had almost forgotten that he was just as attracted to men. He remembered now.

Brandon dropped his dance bag by the door, dragging his feet as he moved towards the living room. He was obviously exhausted. He paused, pointing at Peter. “Mouser is on your lap.”

Peter laughed, ruffling the fur between her shoulders. “Yeah, she’s really great.”

Brandon flopped down on the couch next to Peter, looking confused. “Mouser hates people. She almost took my finger off when I put the collar on her.”

Peter shrugged and continued to pet the scruffy calico. 

Brandon chuckled and stretched his arms out on the back of the couch, groaning at the effort.

“Long day?” Peter offered.

Brandon nodded and let his head flop against the back of the couch, eyes shut. “Good movie choice,” he murmured.

Peter nodded to himself. “Classic,” he replied quietly.

Brandon’s breathing slowed within a few minutes, and he was out like a light. Peter chuckled to himself, watching the slow rise and fall of his friend’s chest. He should wake him and tell him to go to bed. But maybe he would finish the movie first.


	3. Cardboard Castles

Peter had never noticed the scars before. 

The two men sat in their kitchen drinking coffee in a comfortable silence. Peter’s eyes drifted over Brandon as he read the newspaper. He was thin, but very muscular. Brandon was a dancer, which explained his build. His left arm was covered in bright ink, a beautiful Japanese design he had seen a few times before at F.E.A.S.T. Beautiful and Japanese, just like him. Peter chuckled to himself.

What Peter had never noticed were the soft pink vertical scars up and down his arm, mostly hidden by the tattoo. They didn’t look self-inflicted; he remembered what those looked like from Harry’s toughest times back in college. They were precise, maybe even surgical. 

“I was in a car accident last year.”

Shit, he had been caught staring. Peter looked up at Brandon, feeling more than a little sheepish. He was met with a soft smile. Brandon wasn’t one to shy away from a difficult subject. Peter nodded, vaguely remembering a time he had been missing from the volunteer schedule at F.E.A.S.T. “I’m sorry,” he replied softly.

Brandon shrugged, taking another sip of his coffee. “Shit happens, Parker.”

Peter nodded back, returning his attention to his coffee. _‘That was embarrassing,’_ he mentally scolded himself. It was too easy to get distracted staring at Brandon. 

Mouser let out a loud meow from under the table, demanding breakfast scraps. Peter smiled and slipped her a bite of his eggs. 

Brandon watched the exchange, a soft smile on his lips. “I can’t believe she likes you.”

Peter laughed, watching Mouser kick at the legs of his chair. “I can’t believe she doesn’t like other people.”

Brandon lowered a piece of egg to Mouser, who hissed at him and backed towards Peter. He shot a knowing look at Peter. “See?”

Peter chuckled. He scratched Mouser behind the ears and sat upright again. He nodded at Brandon’s arm. “What happened?” he asked softly. 

“I was reckless. Took a turn too fast, flipped my car. The doctor had to pull bone chips out of my arm like a game of Operation.”

Peter winced.

“That’s why I started teaching kids. I couldn’t keep up with everybody anymore. My arm won’t support my weight, let alone someone else’s.” He frowned, folding up his newspaper. “Which reminds me. I need to get to the studio.” He flashed Peter a cheesy grin, hefted up his bag from the floor, and headed out.

Peter watched him leave, scooped Mouser into his arms and planted a kiss between her ears. He set her back down on the floor and moved to his room.

Pigsty didn’t begin to cover the mess inside. His mask hung off one of the bedposts, a pile of dirty laundry loomed in the corner, abandoned rewiring projects littered his desk. He snatched the mask and smelled in. He winced. He really needed to figure out a better way to wash the suit.

He sighed and tugged the suit on. Time to patrol.

A web shot zipped him out of the window and over the fire escape, to the building across the alley. A few more shots lifted him on top of the dance studio building. He could feel the vibrations of the bass through the roof. He smiled under the mask, swaying softly to the beat. He vaguely recognized the song, some hip hop artist Brandon liked to listen to.

He zipped away again, moving away from the studio and towards Central Park. He hummed the song to himself as best he could, for knowing as few words as he did.

_“Cold pizza, something something, broken something, give ‘em here-”_

He chuckled to himself as he swung around a corner. He needed to actually listen to that song if he was going to try to sing it. 

That would have to wait. He spotted someone in a ski mask a block down.

Spidey time.


End file.
